


Speak of the Devil

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Category: Avengers (2012), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, The Avengers - Freeform, choosing not to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:30:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every few months, Fury meets with someone for lunch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak of the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> A response to this prompt: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/17613.html?thread=41205453#t41205453

**Speak of the Devil**

The cause of Director Fury’s missing eye is one of the most popular topics for gossip within SHIELD. Junior agents tell new recruits all the different rumours, some of them laughably ridiculous, others more plausible, pretending more knowledge than they really have. The more senior agents keep quiet, knowing that they have no real idea how Fury lost his eye, and probably never will.

Then there are a scant few people – Hill and Coulson, mostly – who know that Fury lost his eye in a war.

But he’s never said which war.

* * *

They meet for lunch every few months, when their schedules permit it. It’s an odd sight: a dark-skinned, eye-patched man all in black leather, and a pale, blonde man in a smart suit, sharing a table in a very exclusive, very discreet restaurant. All kinds of secret, powerful deals are brokered here. It’s a fitting place for them to meet.

Fury’s often late, delayed by various situations requiring his immediate attention. On those days he arrives scowling, and apologises in the same breath as he curses his subordinates and/or whichever bad guy has been a pain in his ass today. The other just smiles, sly and amused. _He_ is never late, but always perfectly on time.

Sometimes, though, Fury is on time as well. Today is one of those days.

“I see you’re looking especially pleased with yourself,” Fury grumbles as he seats himself opposite his counterpart, ignoring the looks he gets from some of the newer, less discreet customers who haven’t yet learned to pretend that they haven’t noticed the odd pair who always sit at the corner table. “That mess with Doom was you?”

The blonde man shrugs modestly.

“I wouldn’t say it was _me_ , as such. Perhaps that I… had an influence, you might say?”

“Bullshit,” Fury growls. “Like hell I’d say any such damn thing.”

The blonde man grins. It’s surprisingly charming, despite the air of absolute untrustworthiness that accompanies it.

“I thought so,” Fury adds. “Today had your fingerprints all over it.”

“I’m touched to think you recognise my signature so readily,” says the blond man graciously.

Fury swears at him, loudly enough to attracted shocked glances from some of the other clientele; the blonde man just throws back his head and laughs.

Most of their meetings go like this. They keep meeting for lunch anyway. 

* * *

Fury is enjoying a rare moment to himself when – of fucking course – there’s a knock on the door, interrupting the peace and quiet. A moment later Coulson walks in, trailing Avengers behind him like a set of particularly disparate and peculiar ducklings.

Coulson somehow manages to look like he isn’t leading a bizarre parade, despite his superhero entourage. Fury is vaguely proud of him. That shit takes _skill._

“Can I help you.” Fury leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers and fixing his one eye upon them all.

“We have a problem,” says Coulson.

“What kind of problem?” It has to be reasonably big, or Coulson would be handling it himself, and without a crowd of Avengers flocking around him.

Before Coulson can respond, Stark interrupts.

“Kind of a big one, actually? Also, weird. Definitely weird. In fact –”

“During today’s bout with the rogue wizard–” Fury loves how Coulson can say that with a perfectly straight face, “-we received intelligence that one of the rival covens is planning to summon the Devil, in order to steal his powers.”

Fury eyeballs him. When this produces no reaction, Fury eyeballs the team behind him, giving them his best dubious eyebrow.

“The _Devil,_ you said.”

“Yes, sir,” Rogers says earnestly.

“And you think some pack of witches is going to try and steal his powers.” Fury’s dubious eyebrow doesn’t shift position one iota.

“Look, we know it sounds crazy,” Stark breaks in, “but we looked into these guys, and we’re pretty sure they’re responsible for a bunch of ritual sacrifices a couple of years ago–”

“But apparently things didn’t go as planned, last time.” Coulson seamlessly takes back control of the conversation from Stark. “If everything we’ve seen is any indication, they’re making more of an effort this time.” He drops a folder on Fury’s desk.

Fury sighs, and doesn’t bother to read it, because if Coulson’s gone to the trouble of doing up a file and bringing it to his attention, then he has the intel to back up everything he’s said.

“Hold on a second,” Fury instructs them, and pulls out his phone. Presses the first speed-dial option.

The phone rings three times, then picks up. Fury rolls his eyes. Dramatic motherfucker can never just answer his damn phone.

“Well, well, what a surprise,” drawls the voice on the other end, and Fury grins in spite of himself.

“Lucifer,” he says, in as close to a friendly voice as he ever gets, and the Avengers _goggle_ at him. 

(“I’m sorry, what, did you just say _Lucifer_ -“ Stark begins, but Fury pays no attention.) 

“How you doing, man?” Fury adds, and enjoys the Avengers expressions, and Coulson’s carefully blank face. “Listen, I’ve got something I wanted to bring to your attention.”

“Go on,” says Lucifer.

“Yeah, apparently some coven’s planning on summoning you and trying to steal your powers.” Fury flips briefly through the file. “Tomorrow’s the new moon, so probably then. Thought you’d like to know that apparently the covens aren’t getting less stupid as time goes by.”

There’s a snort down the phone.

“It astounds me that they truly believe an archangel’s power is something that can be taken from them, instead of what an archangel _is_.”

“The only virtue of the stupid is they don’t last long,” Fury agrees. “You’ll handle it?”

“I’ll handle it,” Lucifer agrees. “Thank you for notifying me.”

“No problem.” They hang up at the same time.

Fury puts his phone back away, and looks up to see the Avengers staring at him.

“Yes?” He raises a pointed eyebrow.

“You have the Devil on speed-dial? Sir?” Barton blurts. Fury looks at him. Barton carefully rearranges his expression into a respectful one.

“Not that it’s any of your business, specialist, but yes, I do,” Fury says. He hesitates over the next few words. “He and I have an… arrangement.” 

“Oh my God, you sold your soul, didn’t you,” said Stark. “I knew there was a reason for your unholy aura–”

“Get out of my office, Stark,” Fury says, rolling his eyes, although secretly he’s amused. “Coulson, track down this coven and arrange for a clean-up crew to be on stand-by. Don’t interfere with the coven’s activities until after they make their big move.”

“You’re not worried, boss?” Coulson asks, just to make sure.

Fury smiles. It’s sly, and strangely like that of Lucifer’s.

“Coulson,” he says kindly, “I pity the fool who thinks they can take _anything_ from Lucifer that he doesn’t want to give.”

* * *

There are a lot of rumours about Director Fury. Mitchells in Requisitions - who's never been the same since he came out of that coma - has been claiming for years that Fury’s actually the archangel Michael, thwarting the Devil’s plans and guarding humanity as they enter a new era. 

Everyone always laughs at that rumour.

But sometimes, Coulson looks thoughtful.


End file.
